


The Promise

by CeridwenofWales



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:07:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeridwenofWales/pseuds/CeridwenofWales
Summary: ON HIATUS!!!I have been haunted by the fact that Ivar and his brothers gathered an outstanding army, making promises to Earls and we never got to know more about this.In this piece, instead of Ivar calling for Freydis to ask if she would be willing to sacrifice herself to defend York, we have Sigvard, an Earl whose daughter was betrothed to Sigurd and now is demanding reparation from Ivar.I'm not claiming that my idea is better than Hirst. It's just a fanfic that I'm writting for myself. I'm not a professional writer anyway.





	1. Chapter 1

 

 

Of course they would come sooner or later to demand reparation. The consequences of his lack of control would always haunt him. Now Sigvard and his daughter, Sigurd’s betrothed, were before Ivar. The Prince was not paying attention to the man’s words, remembering his conversation with Ragnar repeatedly instead. As it has been since he threw that axe into Sigurd’s chest.

 

 

**_I wished I was not so angry all the time._ **

 

If he was not so blindly furious with Sigurd’s comments. If he had controlled his anger. So many possibilities in which his brother could have survived, and Ivar wouldn’t have broken the brotherhood that he always pretended not to care about.

 

 

**_Then you would be nothing._ **

_Would Father say the same if he knew the consequences? Was Father right that I could be nothing more than a furious beast? A pariah, monster._

 

 

No one would dare to say it out loud, but he knew their thoughts. Ivar could sense Ubbe scared of him. Even though he never cared much about Bjorn, the disgust so plainly written on his face was something Ivar didn’t want to see. He wanted to see Bjorn impressed by his deeds. Ivar wanted to surpass Bjorn’s fame. His wish might have come true. No one would forget he killed Sigurd. He didn’t want to forget it either.

 

 

 For a moment Aslaug’s death didn’t taste so bitter. His mother would be devastated if she knew how the son that carried her famous father’s name was killed. The two sons she prophesized about. Two sons that couldn't coexist. 

 

 

Earl Sigvard was still talking, but Ivar was not listening. His eyes were studying Sigvard’s daughter now. A beautiful woman for sure. Long and shiny hair that reached her hips, big and curious eyes, full lips that seemed soft to… kiss? The world was populated by beautiful women. Ivar didn’t need a beautiful woman.

 

 

_What could I do with a beautiful woman by my side anyway?_

 

 

**_I might have been happy._ **

_Could I have been happy if I hadn't killed Sigurd? If people were not whispering my name as a curse now?_

**_Happiness is nothing._ **

 

 

_Was Father right? Will fame, power and wealth be enough to make me whole?_

 

 

 _I was only joking. Idiot._  


 

Hvitserk was always starving for food and a woman to warm his bed, but Ivar was starving for affection and respect. And now he would only inspire fear and repugnance. He was not lying to Ragnar.

 

 

 ** _Everyone will always underestimate you. You must make them pay for it._**  
  
 

Ivar could notice how Sigvard’s hands were trembling as he was speaking. Albeit his daughter remained quiet and Ivar wondered what she was thinking. It was frustrating not being able to guess someone’s motivation. Ivar adopted the theory she was there against her will. Of course she wouldn’t be enthusiastic to share the same space with a kinslayer.

 

 

_What is her name?_

 

 

Ivar was so determined to gather the army to avenge his father that he forgot many of the promises he and his brothers have made to achieve their plans. As Ubbe was married to Margrethe, they lost the chance to marry him with some Princess, or an Earl’s daughter in exchange for more warriors. In this case it was promised a portion of land from one of the Saxon realms they would occupy.

 

 

Hvitserk was promised to an Earl’s daughter, but he didn’t care enough to know her name. If she was gorgeous, Hvitserk would have more reasons to visit her bed and breed as Aslaug warned it was about time. If she was not beautiful enough in Hvitserk’s eyes, he would look at the other side and do his duty. In any case, Hvitserk could always take some reluctant slave.

 

 

Sigurd was betrothed to another Earl’s daughter, but only now Ivar was acquainted with her.  

 

 

 ** _I will, Father._**  


 

Ivar would show they shouldn’t underestimate him. If this Earl thought he could demand something from Ivar, he was mistaken.


	2. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ivar gets to know more about Ragnhild's intentions. Yes, that's her name. [ Ragnhild](https://www.behindthename.com/name/ragnhild) comes from the Old Norse name Ragnhildr, composed of the elements regin "advice, counsel" and hildr "battle".
> 
> I decided that Ivar would be punished with 3 years of exile from Kattegat for Sigurd's murder.
> 
> The end notes are never enough so:
> 
>  
> 
> [Viking-Age Laws and Legal Procedures](http://www.hurstwic.org/history/articles/society/text/laws.htm)  
> [The Thing: Vikings-Age Courts](http://www.arild-hauge.com/elov.htm)

“I hope you understand I'm not trying to offend you, Prince Ivar....” Sigvard’s voice is trembling and Ivar must bite his tongue not to burst into laughter listening to the Earl struggling to find words that won't make himself vulnerable to Ivar's blind fury.

 

 

Ivar is still not facing Earl Sigvard, his eyes are focused on the intriguing creature by his side. She is holding her chin high, lips pressed together. But Ivar can't read her. She doesn't show disgust, fear, anger... Not even one of the most basic emotions with which Ivar can ambush her. Not even curiosity, for she looks through him as if he were another of her many admirers. She must have many Earls and Princes offering her marriage since he threw that axe into Sigurd's ribcage.

 

 

“I'm sure you see my situation... my daughter should be married to your brother if that unfortunate accident hadn't happened...”

 

 

Ivar hisses through clenched teeth, interrupting Sigvard, “Accident?” He leans forward in his chair, a smirk on his lips, “Oh, do you mean the murder of Sigurd?”

 

 

“All brothers have their differences...” Ivar lifts his hand to silence the man.

 

 

“You're right! All brothers have differences, but not all brothers kill one another,” Ivar glares at Sigvard, making the man swallow hard, “Are you not afraid to join your family... _your_ daughter to a _kinslayer_.” Ivar's face is distorted in revulsion as he mentions the last word. His eyes finally meet hers and Ivar gulps.

 

 

“I would be honored to have grandchildren from such an important lineage. My Ragnhild will give you strong sons and many daughters if my sweet Audhild’s fertility has something to say.” Sigvard declares, placing his hand on his chest and nodding slightly. Ivar notices it's the first time Ragnhild reacts, glaring at her father.

 

 

“I'll think about it! You can go now!” Ivar glances at the Earl: deep and thoughtful. The mention of children reopening a wound he thought wouldn't ache anymore.

 

 

Sigvard smiles, walking to the door. Ragnhild turns to follow her father, “I want you to stay for a little awhile, Ragnhild.” Ivar says, staring intently into her eyes, menace poorly hidden under a twisted smile.

 

 

She looks at him from over her shoulder, bowing her head and smiling politely.

 

 

“I don't think it's appropriate...” Sigvard mutters and Ragnhild touches his shoulder reassuringly.

 

 

“Don't worry, father!” it's the first time Ivar listens to her voice and a smirk forms on his lips unconsciously.

 

 

Sigvard opens his mouth to say something, being interrupted by a kiss on his cheek.

 

 

_A sweet daughter. Some tenderness in any father's life._

 

 

Ivar thinks, holding on the armrest of his chair.

 

 

Ragnhild watches her father leaving and Ivar feels his heart beating fast, hands sweating and trembling. But Ivar knows he can’t hesitate. He grips the armrests until his knuckles are white.

 

 

Ragnhild turns to face him, “What would like to talk to me, Prince Ivar?”

 

 

Ivar chuckles amused, “Straight to the point. I like this. I don't have time for flattery.”

 

 

Ragnhild hesitates, _lowering her eyelids_ as though stricken with sudden shyness, “I'm sure about it! Forgive my father. He has always been an admirer of King Ragnar…”

 

 

“Your father, but what about you?” Ivar grins, watching Ragnhild shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

 

 

“It's difficult to know for sure… I don't mean to doubt his deeds. But when so many people talk about someone, they tend to mix fantasy and reality. It's different when you watch someone rising to be a legend.” Ivar nodded, a smile on his lips.

 

 

“Don't you think it's good to have different stories about oneself? I believe it would work for our advantage as the enemies will never know what you will do next… what you're capable of.” Ragnhild observes how Ivar strokes his thighs as he speaks. She wonders if he is in pain or nervous.

 

 

 _Why would Ivar Ragnarsson be nervous around me? It's impossible._ Ragnhild shakes her head in disbelief.

 

 

“I agree that the enemies must be confused, but never our people. They need to know they have a reliable leader, someone they can trust, love and respect in equal measure.” Ragnhild clasps her hands in front of her, trying not to exude a tension that is almost palpable. Ivar tilts his head in curiosity.

 

 

“Love? Wouldn't be better for a leader to be feared rather than loved?” Ivar makes a motion with his finger for Ragnhild to come closer.

 

 

_Every person that ever loved me is either dead or gone. Father, Mother and Floki._

 

 

“Fear can work for a while, but not forever. All is lost when the people fear their leader to the point they start wondering how it would be to be ruled by another.” Ivar burst into laughter at her words and Ragnhild pouts lightly.

 

 

“I didn't mean to offend your _wisdom_ ,” Ivar fakes a cough as Ragnhild looks at him through furrowed eyebrows, “I wonder… what took from your father to convince you to come here to offer yourself to me.” Ragnhild swallow hard, trying to predict how many times she will have to gulp her words if she marries Ivar.

 

 

“I don't see like I'm offering myself to you. I see it as a choice…” Ragnhild tries to show him her certainty, even with his eyes unnerving her.

 

 

“A choice?” He laughs in mockery.

 

_She must be thinking I’m easily fooled, holding onto any crumb of affection or understanding._

 

 

“Don't you think you would be better with my brother Hvitserk? Even Bjorn, the eldest and heir to Kattegat… now that Lagertha took the throne,” Ivar watches her from head to toe and Ragnhild knows he is preparing an ambush. Her future depends on how she will answer his questions and if he will believe her.

 

 

“Don't you think you're underestimating me? As I'm sure many people do to you and now regret it.” Ivar smirks at her audacity. His father's words coming back.

 

 

_Is it possible that she can endure life with me? Am I not destined to be lonely forever? Can I trust her?_

 

 

“You might be right that a marriage to Hvitserk would be easier, or even Bjorn. But I doubt Bjorn will be King of Kattegat. Lagertha won't be Queen for long either…” Ivar laughs, throwing his head back.

 

 

“Are you a Völva as my mother was? Why do you believe Bjorn and Lagertha won't rule Kattegat?” Ivar licks his lower lip and Ragnhild feels shivers through her skin. She doesn't know if it's fear or attraction. The woman wonders if one day she will be able to distinguish between those sensations when it comes to Ivar.

 

 

“I don't need to be a Völva to know that as soon as your banishment is over, you will take what is yours and avenge your mother's murder. I doubt you will allow Lagertha to get away with what she did.” Ivar tilts his head, biting his lower lip.

 

 

“Come closer, Ragnhild!” his whisper makes her feel knots on her belly, but she just nods, approaching Ivar's chair.

 

 

“Do you think I'm right to start a civil war? Are you not afraid I'll never stop? Are you not terrified that you might be following me to the abyss? You should be disgusted that I killed the man that was promised to be your husband.” Ivar raises his eyebrows in curiosity. He doubts Ragnhild had thought he would be so cautious after such a tempting offer. Ivar feels his hands sweating for he knows any other man would accept the deal without blinking. Maybe Ragnhild thought he would be vulnerable after everyone turning the back to him. But Ivar wouldn't risk everything because of a gorgeous face and tender flesh.

 

 

“You're not starting a civil war. Lagertha started it. The protection of the family is the duty of a man and the revenge as well.” Ivar lifts his hand and Ragnhild gulps.

 

 

“Sit here!” Ivar points to a chair by his side. Ragnhild shifts closer, eyes never leaving his face. Ivar can't stop thinking she has the posture of a Queen, sitting with her back straight, squared shoulders, chin held high. So much like his mother.

 

 

“Are you not frightened that I might hurt you, as I did to Sigurd? I imagine you pictured yourself married to him, carrying his children…” Ivar shifts in his seat and Ragnhild notices his discomfort with the mention of children.

 

 

“I knew little about Sigurd. We met only once when he traveled with Ubbe to my father's earldom to ask for our assistance. He was kind and played the lute during the feast in their honor.” Ragnhild is not naive. She sees the way Ivar breaths heavily, nostrils flaring with the mention of his brother.

 

 

“He would be a good skald. I presume some tenderness developed between my brother and you.” Ivar smiles and Ragnhild doesn't see only mischief and jealousy. She sees admiration and sorrow.

 

 

“I grew up knowing that one day I would marry out of duty and to forge an alliance that could work for my family's advantage. Sigurd was tender, but he was a prisoner of the past, of his childhood’s wounds,” Ragnhild stops, trying to see if Ivar is still considering her words. He motions with his hand for Ragnhild to talk more.

 

 

 “When I mentioned my admiration for your mother's endurance, your kind brother vanished… Sigurd disagreed when I said I wanted to be strong and wise like her, to raise Princes and build a kingdom. He was too hurt for the child he was and the neglect he felt he was victim of.” Ivar is running his hands through his hair and Ragnhild stops to take a deep breath. She can see he is in distress.

 

 

“Do you regret it?” Ragnhild asks and bite her tongue immediately.

 

 

“No one have ever asked me so sincerely. Or believed me when I said. Would you believe in me?” Ivar glances at her, mouth twitching. Ragnhild nods, drawing a deep breath.

 

 

“I need to know. If our lives will be woven together from now on… I must know.”

 

 

Ivar gulps audibly, “I do. I wish that axe was out of my reach. I wish Sigurd started coughing and haven't said the words that he knew would hurt me. Sometimes I'm relieved my mother is not alive to see what I did… What I have become.” Ragnhild feels her eyes burning with unshed tears for the man that is trembling, holding sobs in front of her.

 

 

Ragnhild reaches out to hold his hand and Ivar lifts his head, surprised, “Sigurd might have been a caring husband and father. He was a skilled warrior for sure, many are… but as long as he remained trapped in the past he would still be that child that felt abandoned. A child is not fit to be King.” Ivar squeezes her hand, eyes shining with the tears he has been holding.

 

 

“I can feel too. I can…” Ivar is hesitant and Ragnhild leaves her seat to squat by his side, still holding his hand.

 

 

“I know you can. Otherwise you would wait and plan patiently how to take revenge on your brother. His words wouldn't reach your heart and move your hand before the whole army. You're not cold, but I must know you won't act only on your emotions.” Ragnhild smiles at Ivar and he caresses her cheek with his other hand.

 

 

“I'll try.” Ivar avert his eyes and Ragnhild cups his face.

 

 

“I know it won't be easy, but I'll be with you if you allow me.” She blinks nervously.

 

 

“I suppose we will have a marriage then.” Ivar smiles genuinely when Ragnhild’s lips curl to show her satisfaction. Only in his dreams he saw a woman happy to be married to him, “Not only the dutiful daughter, huh?” His hot breath wash over her face as Ivar leans forward, closer to her.

 

 

“In fact, it was my idea.” Ragnhild laughs, watching Ivar's jaw dropping.

 

 

“You're either stupid or crazy.” He hisses through clenched teeth.

 

 

“I like to think I'm as smart as my future husband.” Ragnhild rises to her feet, walking to the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the show we haven't seen Ivar being punished by Sigurd's death. I've read many things about the law in Viking Age and I believe these articles might be appropriate.
> 
> Punishments could be severe, but the Viking legal system was based on a legislative assembly and a court.
> 
> "A Thing" was a governing assembly in Germanic society that was typically held in a specially designated place. The Thing made political decisions, legislated and tried murder cases, a common problem in the Viking Age. The word lives on in several Scandinavian names for Parliament, such as Norway’s Stortinget and Iceland’s Alþing, as well as in place names like Tingwall in Orkney and Shetland.
> 
> People could be sentenced to death or be made outlaws by a judgment at the Thing. Being subjected to outlawry meant that you were banished from society and anyone could kill you, with no consequences. People commonly settled disputes among themselves by paying fines, or through the holmgang—a duel between two men, often over women or property. Understanding the legal system requires thinking like a Viking from Scandinavia. Taking responsibility for one’s own actions was considered paramount. If you did something wrong, you had to admit to the deed. Then you could defend yourself at the Thing, which was the honourable way to handle it. Theft was therefore a particularly heinous crime, since the point of stealing something is to hide one’s action.  
> “Today we distinguish between premeditated murder, intentional murder and manslaughter, but the Vikings didn’t have the same distinctions,” Anne Irene Riisøy tells forskning.no.
> 
> Riisøy is an Asssociate Professor at the University College of Southeast Norway (USN) who has previously focused on Norwegian legislation and case law in medieval and early modern times. Now she is researching law and justice in the Viking Age.
> 
> “For example, arson or killing someone at night was seen as highly despicable and therefore classified as murder because you weren’t giving people the opportunity to defend themselves,” Riisøy says.
> 
> But Vikings did distinguish between manslaughter and murder. You could kill someone in public without suffering serious consequences, because you were doing it openly and giving others the opportunity to react to it, she says.
> 
> You had to take responsibility for the killing and not flee, and pay the compensation imposed on you. The same applied to homicides resulting from fights or similar situations.
> 
> “As long as you were honest and open, and reported what had happened, it wasn’t considered murder,” says Ruiter.
> 
> It was expected that you would take matters into your own hands if someone did you wrong. If you didn’t, you lost the possibility for further financial compensation.
> 
> And revenge could come immediately. Some types of insults were particularly deadly. Riisøy relates a famous example from Iceland in the 980s, which is described in the Icelandic Landnámabók, or “Book of Settlement,” among others. The German missionary Friedrich travelled to Iceland with Thorvald Konradsson, an early Icelandic Christian. On the way they met two men who gave Thorvald a bloody insult:
> 
> The Bishop (Friedrich) has borne nine children, Thorvald was the father of all of them. Thorvald killed both men at once, and although he was not executed for this, he was banished from Iceland. Accusing another man of cowardice, for example, could also trigger a duel. Openness about one’s deeds underscored the importance of honesty. The legal system was dependent on people being honest when they claimed their innocence at the Thing or in other contexts. The Vikings had quite a solid legal process in this area, which we still recognize today.
> 
> “It was very important to swear an oath to show that you spoke the truth and would honour an agreement. These oaths were often sworn on objects such as boats, swords or special rings,” says Riisøy.
> 
> Oaths were also used to seal peace agreements or just to agree on an issue. According to Riisøy, oaths such as, "If I lie now, I shall be afraid of Odin and Thor" were thought to invoke the gods.
> 
> “Some people probably believed that the oaths would get the sword to slay the guilty party,” she says. The oath offered a type of security.  
> [How Vikings Could Get Away With Murder](https://www.realclearscience.com/articles/2016/08/22/how_vikings_could_get_away_with_murder_109733.html)  
> more [here](https://sillyhistory.com/2016/11/29/crime-and-punishment-viking-style/)


	3. Rain, Tears and Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scenes described in this chapter are based on the first battle between Wessex and the Heathen Army in York. When Bishop Heahmund and Ivar see each other for the first time.

 

 

 

As much as Ivar wants to show everyone that a noble and fair woman chose him, he asks Sigvard and Ragnhild to keep their agreement in secret for a while. He doesn’t know what is going on in his brothers’ minds and it might work for his advantage if Hvitserk and Ubbe think he has no intention to build a family.

 

 

From the top of the tower Ivar sees the Saxon army climbing the crumbling wall to invade York.

 

 

He forgets his brothers are standing behind him as Aethelwulf appears on the top of the wall. Ivar mutters under his breath as a curse. As his words alone could condemn Aethelwulf to death, “That's him.”

 

 

Hvitserk asks warily, “Who?” Ivar feels his chest swelling with pride. He is the only one Ragnar brought with him to Wessex. With Bjorn away, he is the only one who knows his father’s enemies. The only one who will not stop until everyone that humiliated Ragnar is destroyed.

 

 

Ivar, “Aethelwulf. King Ecbert's son.” He takes a deep breath as two young men swift closer to Aethelwulf. One of them must be the young Prince that made him company while King Ecbert was talking to Ragnar, “Oh… and he brought his own sons, like lambs to the slaughter.” Ivar grins, thinking how fulfilling would be to torture and kill Aethelwulf’s sons before him. He feels shivers running through his skin with the thought he won’t be helpless watching Ragnar being beaten anymore. He will make Aethelwulf taste defeat and powerlessness.

 

 

Ubbe exclaims, his face twisted in annoyance, “Let’s go!” Ivar knows he is trying to pull Hvitserk to his side and although he hates to admit, he wishes that opposite sides didn’t exist among them. Of course, Ubbe will always brush on Ivar’s face that he is not a warrior. He is not whole. Ubbe doesn’t need to yell as Sigurd did for Ivar to know his brother doesn’t consider him an equal, a companion. They will never fight in the shield wall side by side, guarding each other’s back. This bond he can only have with Hvitserk. Ivar must think about a new way to forge an alliance with Hvitserk.

 

 

They leave, and Ivar feels like that child that stayed behind once more. The child that couldn’t run with his brothers. The one that stayed with Aslaug and Sigurd, watching the ships sailing away. He remained indeed. Sigurd’s body is decaying because of his doing. Ivar will never make peace with Sigurd. They will never understand each other. Aslaug will never embrace him again. Killed by the treacherous woman that thinks she can sit on his mother’s throne and claim Aslaug’s deeds as her own. Three years seem so far to punish his mother’s murderer. But this battle right now is not far away. It’s happening before his eyes and he can do something.

 

 

Ivar looks at his helmet, a hunger different from Hvitserk’s taking over his senses. He crawls out, being surprised by Ragnhild standing outside the door.

 

 

“What are you doing here?” He looks up at her, suddenly embarrassed that he is at her feet. Ragnhild squats to look him in the eye.

 

 

“I came to see if you were here.” It’s the first time Ivar registers a trembling in her voice. The first time she allows herself to show fear before him.

 

 

Ivar smiles at her, lifting a hand to her cheek, “You will be safe here. Don’t open the door until I’m back.”

 

 

“Where are you going?” her eyes widening with the thought Ivar will be in danger.

 

  

“I’m going to battle. What kind of leader send his warriors to danger, staying behind with women and old men?” Ivar smirks and Ragnhild feels cold sweat running down her back. A storm is coming, and she wonders if it’s a sign Thor approves Ivar’s decision.

 

 

“You can’t go! Please, Ivar! You will be a target… and all will be lost.” She cups his face, Ivar notices how cold and sweaty are her palms against his flushed cheeks. Her eyes are like hooks, holding him in place. The time seems to stop as his mind is spinning with images of Aslaug begging him not to follow Ragnar or he would die. He will not allow another woman to hold him from glory. Nothing will stop him.

 

 

“If you want to be my wife, you must learn that no one tells me what to do.” Ivar hisses through clenched teeth. His heart beats painfully against his ribcage. A mix of rage and regret as he notices how Ragnhild is taking sharp breaths through her mouth. Her delicate fingers trembling against his face.

 

 

She blinks with the harshness of his words, “I’m afraid, Ivar.”

 

 

“Are you afraid I’m not enough of a man or a warrior to come back? You’re not different than the others then.” His nostrils are flaring and Ragnhild swallows hard. She opens her mouth to say something, but Ivar shakes his head, crawling away.

  

 

How can I tell him that it hurts me watching him struggling with that heavy metal brace around his leg, when I believe he could be more comfortable with two crutches? How can I tell him that I admire his determination, but it makes my heart ache when he inflicts more pain on himself, thinking that’s the only way people will respect him? I shake my head, trying to convince myself it’s his decision and that he knows better than me what he can endure.

 

 

How can I say that I’m as afraid to watch my father and brother walking into battle as I’m terrified to see him putting himself in danger? Is Ivar right? Am I being overprotective because of his legs? 

 

 

I smile watching him driving his chariot full speed through the narrow and muddy streets, rain _pouring_ down relentlessly violent. I can only imagine the broad smile on his face as he is inciting the stallion with sharper movements of his reins. He reminds me of _Máni_ driving his chariot across the night sky, pursued closely by _Hati_. 

I gasp when a Saxon soldier comes out of nowhere, hitting Ivar and knocking him from his chariot, his helmet flying away from his head. The world seems to stop, suspended in time as I see Ivar laying on his back. I lean out of the stone parapet, one of my hands pressed against my chest as every shallow breath I take feels like burning my insides. My mouth is hanging open, tears falling in the same rhythm as the rain. 

 

 

_Why doesn’t he move to fight back? Is he dead?_

 

 

My vision is blurred by the tears and the rain washing over my face. I want to close my eyes, but it seems I’m unable to do it. I keep my eyes focused on Ivar, as if I dare to look away, he will perish. I don’t want to see the enemy’s sword finishing his life. I feel like a duty not to allow him to die alone, as if I’m holding Ivar’s hands in his last moments.

 

 

I'm terrified, thinking that I grew too attached to him, and that my feelings are not reciprocated, or worse. That he might die and I won't have the chance to tell him about how I feel, stripped of the opportunity to give him this love.

 

 

The tightness in my throat turns into amazement while I watch Ivar using his blade to sweep the man off his feet. Ivar crawls over his body, hitting him furiously and screaming until his blood is covering his face.

 

 

I see the enemy’s army approaching as Ivar crawls to sit with his back against his chariot. I want to believe the thunder and the rain is a sign Thor is present and will protect Ivar. He laughs, and I wonder what he is thinking as Ivar faces those men that seek his destruction. Bows and swords pointing at him, and he is still laughing and yelling. I see the hesitation written plainly on the enemies’ faces, they can’t disguise their trembling hands. Yet, one of them is able to shoot an arrow near Ivar’s head. Ivar throws one of his blades against them. It seems he is either offended that they even tried to shoot him or that they missed it.

 

 

" _Veistu ekki hver ég er?“_ He beats on his chest _, “Þú getur ekki drepið mig_!" His voice is hoarse, echoing through the silent battlefield that the city turned into. Ivar points to them with his weapon.

 

 

" _Veistu ekki hver ég er?_ _Ég er_ _Ívarr hinn Beinlausi_. _Ég er_ _Ívarr hinn Beinlausi_." Ivar opens his arms as if he is offering himself to the slaughter. My heart skips a beat with the thought. 

 

 

" _Drepðu mig núna! Dreptu mig þá!_ " He spits, urging the warriors to kill him. He must be in frenzy, believing himself unbeatable. Somehow he is right, for the wrath in his voice seems to paralyze his enemies. None of them dare to step forward and face Ivar.

 

 

Ubbe finally arrives with the men under his command. Instead of launching an attack against the Saxons, Ubbe holds his men back. My blood boils with rage. _How can he stop and watch as his brother‘s life is in danger?_ Ubbe looks from Ivar to the enemy‘s army and I wonder why he is hesitating. I don’t know if as the Saxons, he is terrified of Ivar’s lust for carnage or if he has a dark and hidden intention. My father and brother come forward with his men, but Ubbe lifts his sword to make them stop the advance. For the first time I want to scream until my lungs burn.

 

 

“Wait!” Ubbe shouts, looking at my father. _What is he waiting for?_

 

 

Ivar looks from over his shoulder. Even at the distance, I can see he is breathing heavily through his mouth, his chest rising and falling. He must be thrilled.

 

 

Ubbe finally walks ahead, ordering the attack. It’s chaotic and, for some agonizing moments, I can’t see Ivar as the two sides collide. I strain my eyes to pick out the flashes of battle still raging below. The sound of metal clashing and screams fill my ears.

 

 

"Þú ert að fara að deyja!" His screams rise above the battle‘s noise. But Ivar’s voice is not the only thing standing out. I see a mighty warrior cutting down our warriors shieldmaidens. As the mass of people spread, I can finally catch sight of Ivar. He looks as impressed as I am with this strange man’s abilities. Ivar is smiling and pushing his bodyguards out of the way, so he can watch the man fighting.

 

 

At last he notices Ivar, pointing his sword to him. His face contorted in rage and disgust. Ivar claps his hand, laughing wolfishly. His face is dripping with Saxon blood and I see the way it accentuates his shiny white teeth even at this distance. It seems his actions only fuel the opponent’s fury. The Christian man opens his arms, walking to Ivar. I need to believe the warriors standing protectively in front of him will prevent anyone of harming Ivar. But my hopes are crushed when an arrow finds its destination in his thigh. Ivar doesn’t flinch in pain, instead he tilts his head, gritting his teeth as he breaks the feathered end of the arrow, tossing it away.

 

 

My hands are sweating and shaking as the stranger moves closer to Ivar. The battle shifts to their position and he is unable to reach Ivar. For a moment I can breathe again. He shouts commands to the Saxon horde, enraged that he couldn’t slay the mind behind the achievements of our people. The man I suppose is their King orders a retreat.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

After our victory, we start proceeding with the burials for our dead and tending to the wounded men. My father has a small cut on his arm, that I manage to sew quickly. My brother’s wound is bigger. An ugly cut on his chest. He could have died if it was not for the thick leather of his armor. Erik is still in risk of a fever. I do my best to clean his injury, then I stitch it. It’s a foreign land, so I don’t dispose of the same herbs to treat him. The stock I brought with me is vanishing quickly with the endless war against the Saxons. I call for the help of _Eir_ that my brother won’t need to use herbs of this foreign land. I don’t believe I will be able to distinguish between poison and cure.

 

 

While I’m tending to my brother, I can’t help thinking about Ivar. I almost lost him and yet he is not mine. If we belonged to each other, I could run to him and look after his injuries, scold him for being reckless. But the truth is that I’m chained to pretend that we don’t feel anything for each other. At least I know that from my part it would not be pretense. I fear that for Ivar is not the same. I can’t even ask his brothers about his well-being, without attracting attention to our shared secret.

 

 

I feel a lump in my throat with the possibility that Ivar fooled me with his promise. Especially after our disagreement before the battle. I should have supported him, instead of asking him to stay with me. The first test and I failed miserably.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

A fever attacks Erik and he demands constant care. For a few days I keep my hands busy. During the day my routine consists in cleaning my brother’s wound, wiping away the sweat from his forehead and spooning broth, boiled herbs and water into his chapped lips.

 

 

My father informed Ivar is alive, but I don’t know the extent of his injuries and with my brother convalescing, I can’t bring myself to ask more about Ivar’s condition. At night, I keep my mind vigilant, listening to Erik’s delirious grunts and wiping away the sweat from his forehead. I wonder if Ivar is having the same care. The thought of Ivar alone and grunting in pain through the night brings tears to my eyes. I press my lips together, swallowing the lump in my throat. I try to convince myself that Ivar’s brothers are looking after him with as much love and devotion as I am tending to Erik. After Ubbe’s hesitation in the battlefield, it’s difficult to believe it.

 

 

I try not to let panic sink its teeth into my soul. But whenever I manage to close my eyes, falling into a fitful sleep, my mind is filled with the image of Ivar shuddering with fever, my name coming from his dry lips in a hoarse thick tone.

 

 

One morning, Erik wakes up without fever, consciousness slowly returning.

 

 

“Thanks for taking care of me, Rag.” He whispers, startling me as I’m focused on preparing his broth.

 

 

“Oh, Erik! You scared me. How are you feeling?” I want to wrap my arms tightly around him, but I can see my brother is still weakened by the fever.

 

 

“Hungry.” Erik chuckles. I lean down, kissing his cheek and brushing away the sweat-dampened hair from his forehead.

 

 

“Do you think you can stay alone for a few hours while I go to the market?” I ask him warily and Erik nods, licking his cracked lips. I help him to sit, handing him a cup of water.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

  

My basket is filled with meat and some fruits I managed to find in the market. I'm walking down one of the narrow streets, going back to my brother with a smile on my lips when a low husky voice startles me.

 

 

“Have you been avoiding me?” I gulp, watching Ivar grimacing as he swifts closer to me on his crutch. I feel my jaw trembling, noticing how he is dragging his right leg painfully. The metal brace must be heavy. His giant bodyguard is watching the entrance to the alley and for the first time I fear for my life.

 

 

_Is Ivar protecting my honor or planning my death?_

 

 

He leans down, my forehead almost touching his broad chest. I look up at him, dizzy with our proximity after days of absence. His scent and breathing are more intoxicating than the sweetest mead. Ivar must repeat himself for I was distracted watching his plump lips moving, instead of listening to the words he pronounced.

 

 

My lips tremble, words caught in my throat. He is paler than usual, a blood ring around his iris. I lift my hand unconsciously reaching for his cheek.

 

 

“Have you been avoiding me, Ragnhild?” He utters the words slowly, meaning to intimidate me. I recoil my hand, offended that he thinks I’ve been away on purpose. As if those days has not been the most painful I can recall I have ever lived.

 

 

“It must be hard for you to believe, but not everything is about you, Ivar.” He raises his eyebrows in disbelief at my defiance and I fear I’ve gone too far, “My brother was wounded and only this morning he woke up from a fever.” I choke down a scoff in my throat and Ivar looks down for a moment. For a moment I believe Ivar will understand me and we will find comfort in each other’s arms.  

 

 

“I’ve heard about his injuries. But you could have left him with someone else for some moments and come to talk to me, huh?” He grins, weaving his fingers through my hair.

 

 

The gesture makes me feel my belly fluttering with both anger and attraction. I’m afraid it will always be a constant when it comes to Ivar. I want to wrap my arms around his waist, bury my face against his solid chest and tell him how much I missed him. I want to share with him how much I suffered fearing our last words could have been filled with wrath.

 

 

“I had no choice, Ivar. I don’t have servants and slaves running around to serve me here. I’m sure your wounds were treated properly… you were well cared for. My brother could rely on me only. You didn’t need me.” Ivar grunts, releasing the strand of my hair. His palm goes to the wall on the side of my head, caging me. I can feel the heat coming from his skin.

 

 

“You’re wrong!” He whispers, eyes clenched shut. Ivar looks so contemplative, almost pained. He sets his forehead on mine, sniffing my hair. I close my eyes, drowning into the sensation of his body so close to mine. In this moment I don’t care if someone sees us. Before I can register, tears are streaming down my cheeks, a strangled sob escaping from my throat.

 

 

A chill runs down my spine as Ivar uses his thumb to wipe away my tears, a shushing sound coming from his mouth.

 

 

“I’m sorry, Ivar... I-I was so afraid! I shouldn’t have told you not to go. I should have supported your decision.” He presses a kiss to my forehead and I tangle my arms around his waist, allowing myself to find comfort in his embrace. He runs his big hand up and down my back, trying to soothe me as my body is shaking with sobs. His chin pressed down on my head.

 

 

“We are together now,” He utters, and I look up at him. A genuine and rare smile on his lips, one that brightens his icy blue eyes, “Maybe I’ve been too reckless in battle, huh?” Ivar muses playfully. I smiled, brows furrowed when he drags his tongue over his lips.

 

 

“Perhaps.” I tilt my head, sniffing the remaining tears and smiling shyly at him

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The secret nature of their relationship is especially satisfying when Ivar is sneaking out of his chamber during the night to see her. The vision of Ragnhild sleeping peacefully awakes in Ivar a desire to hold and protect her, even though he knows she is not helpless. He runs his calloused fingers over her warm and tender cheek until her eyelids flutter open. Ivar looks down as if in search of an explanation for his presence there. He notices the confusion in her sleepy eyes, but Ragnhild doesn’t look frightened and for that he is grateful. Memories of Margrethe trying to scream when he invaded her bed are still painful. Ivar smiles, watching as a _yawn_ has _her covering her mouth_ and squeezing _her_ eyes shut.

 

 

_My Ragnhild wouldn’t push me away._

 

 

She props on her elbows, turning her face to see if everyone is still asleep. When Ragnhild is sure no one is staring at them, she whispers “What are you doing here, Ivar?”

 

 

Ivar looks deep in her eyes and Ragnhild notices his tensed shoulders. He opens his lips as if to say something, but confusion twists his tongue. Adam’s apple ascending in a gulp. Ragnhild cups his face, worried about what brought him to her quarters in the middle of the night, facing the risk of being caught and ruining his plan.

 

 

 _It must be something important._ She thinks, feeling her heart beating fast.

 

 

“What is worrying you? Is it something I can help you with?” She notices his eyes shining with unshed tears and for a moment, Ragnhild believes Ivar is in pain, “Are you in pain? Please… tell me.” She sits on the edge of the bed and Ivar buries his face in her lap, clutching at her waist. For an instant, Ragnhild forgets they are not alone and starts running her fingers through his hair, trying to calm Ivar.

 

 

After a few minutes, he turns his face, looking up at her. Ragnhild smiles reassuringly and Ivar brings her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “I’m sorry to disturb you. I just didn’t want to be alone.” She tilts her head, letting out a deep breath.

 

 

“You never disturb me. But if we get caught, my honor will be questioned. Then my father might be pushed to chop off you head. That would be a waste, since your head is lovely on your shoulders.” Ivar chuckles, sending vibrations through the skin of her thighs. Ragnhild presses her hand over his mouth to mutter his laughter and Ivar bites her fingers softly. He grins, watching her glaring at him with an indignant huff. Yet, his amusement doesn’t last, and he is serious again. They stare at each other and Ragnhild leans down, pressing a kiss to his temple, “You’re not alone anymore.” Her soft voice sends shudders through his spine and Ivar nods, feeling ready to share the thoughts clouding his mind.

 

 

“Ubbe and Hvitserk rode to meet the Saxons.” Ivar confesses and Ragnhild gasps in shock. She covers her mouth immediately, fearing someone is awakened by their conversation. Ragnhild looks around, relieved that the mead from that night was enough to make them sleep heavily.

 

 

“By the Gods, Ivar. Your brothers are crazy,” She slips from the bed, sitting on the ground, by his side and holding his hand, “The Saxons are feeling humiliated after another defeat. They will not want to negotiate.” Ivar looks at their joined hands, trying to avoid gazing at her body as her nightgown leaves almost nothing to the imagination.

 

 

“I know. What am I supposed to do? They don’t respect me, Rag.” Her heart aches for him. Even after his mind being essential for their victories, his brothers fail to respect Ivar.

 

 

“Let’s hope the Gods are protecting them. But…” Ivar lifts his head to look in her eyes.

 

 

“Tell me!” Ivar pressures Ragnhild to speak.

 

 

“If they return defeated, you won’t only have your brothers back, you will be able to reclaim your rightful place as the leader of the army.” Ragnhild feels her stomach fluttering as Ivar smirks, squeezing her hand. She doubts he could endure the loss of another brother, but she also can’t deny the satisfaction written so plainly on his face.

 

 

“You’re right! It’s my chance. Let’s hope the Saxons won’t ask for a ransom to hand my stupid brothers over to me.” Ivar hisses and Ragnhild caresses his cheek, resting her head against the edge of the bed, eyes closed. Ivar notices she is exhausted and fights the urge to take her to his bed at once. Ivar is still insecure if he can perform, but at least he would sleep in her warm embrace. Soon he will not have to hide in the shadows to talk or touch her. Soon she will be his and he will be hers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Veistu ekki hver ég er?" = “Don't you know who I am?”  
> "Þú getur ekki drepið mig!" = "You can't kill me!"  
> "Ég er Ívarr hinn Beinlausi!" = "I am Ivar the boneless."  
> "Drepðu mig núna! Dreptu mig þá!" = "Kill me now! Kill me then!"  
> "Þú ert að fara að deyja!" = "You're going to die!"
> 
> [Skoll and Hati](https://norse-mythology.org/skoll-hati/) are two wolves who are only mentioned in passing references that have to do with their pursuing Sol and Mani, the sun and moon, through the sky in hopes of devouring them. At Ragnarok, the downfall of the cosmos, they catch their prey as the sky and earth darken and collapse.
> 
> [Hati: He who hates](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hati_Hr%C3%B3%C3%B0vitnisson)  
> In Norse mythology, Hati Hróðvitnisson (first name meaning "He Who Hates", or "Enemy"[1]) is a warg; a wolf that, according to Snorri Sturluson's Prose Edda, chases Máni, the moon, across the night sky, just as the wolf Sköll chases Sól, the sun, during the day, until the time of Ragnarök, when they will swallow these heavenly bodies. Snorri also gives another name for a wolf who swallows the moon, Mánagarmr ("Moon-Hound", or "Moon's Dog").  
> [Mani](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%A1ni)  
> [Sól and Mani](https://norse-mythology.org/sol-mani/)
> 
> [Eir](http://grumpylokeanelder.tumblr.com/post/52055717539/question-norse-deities-associated-with-healing-or) is helpful with all sorts of healing, as is Mengloth.
> 
> In Norse mythology,[ Eir](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eir) (Old Norse "help, mercy") is a goddess and/or valkyrie associated with medical skill. Eir is attested in the Poetic Edda, compiled in the 13th century from earlier traditional sources; the Prose Edda, written in the 13th century by Snorri Sturluson; and in skaldic poetry, including a runic inscription from Bergen, Norway from around 1300. Scholars have theorized about whether these three sources refer to the same figure, and debate whether Eir may have been originally a healing goddess and/or a valkyrie. In addition, Eir has been theorized as a form of the goddess Frigg and has been compared to the Greek goddess Hygieia.


	4. Bargain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter Ivar claims the leadership of the army as Ubbe suspects something might be happening between his brother and Ragnhild.

 

 

 

 

I'm standing between my brother and father. My eyes going from Ubbe and Hvitserk to Ivar. I know it's a decisive moment not only for the man I'm going to bond my life with. It's an important moment for our people.

 

 

Seeing Ubbe so broken makes my heart ache, but my loyalty is to Ivar. Ubbe met with the Saxons not only because he wants peace and lands. He acted behind Ivar's back to prove his point, to challenge Ivar's leadership. Ubbe put himself, his brother and warriors in risk to because he can't accept his youngest brother has been proving himself a more effective leader than him. He talks about Ivar's pride, remaining blind to his own resistance to follow Ivar. He can't understand they came from the same seed and womb, but are shaped differently.

 

 

To Ubbe all was given. As the second eldest Ragnarsson, he never had to fight for his place. Ivar had to endure the looks and whispers that kept reminding him that Ragnar and Aslaug should have put him to die.

 

 

Leading our people to victories and prosperity was an unexpected and splendid outcome for a man that many considered shouldn't be alive.

 

 

I think Ivar is far more dangerous when he threatens everyone with a soft voice. It means he is in control. That his mind planned every step, but listening to him screaming at his brothers makes my blood run cold. Memories of what happened to Sigurd invade my mind.

 

 

Ivar must be fighting strong and conflicted emotions. He could have lost two brothers at once. All because of pride.

 

 

His eyes search for mine and I smile discreetly at him. My heart swells with the idea Ivar values my opinion on his actions. The thought of Ivar turning to me when in doubt is like I want our married life to be. I want us to support and love one another. I'm confident my feelings are reciprocated.

_Why else would Ivar comes to me at night, risking his plan to keep our betrothal a secret? Why would Ivar go against his cunning mind only to hear my voice?_

 

 

Ivar’s voice is back to his honeyed tone that does not elude me that his mind is in peace. He does not seek peace.

 

 

“You showed yourself to be weak. You two are luck to be alive.” He tilts his head glaring at his brothers as if their humiliation pleases him, but I know it's not that simple, “And now it is finally time for you to recognize me as the rightful leader of the Great Army.” I can see the way Ubbe looks taken by surprise with Ivar’s statement. It is like he is seeing his brother’s ambition for the first time and it makes my blood boil. I feel myself curling my fingers into fists.

 

 

_Why Ubbe believes Ivar shouldn't consider the sole leadership when his ideas brought us to where we are now?_

Ubbe has given Ivar the perfect opportunity to show his skills can lead our people to victory, instead of the shame and defeat that must be hurting far more than the wounds on his face. He stands up and Ivar’s bodyguards are quickly in front of him, keeping Ivar out of Ubbe's reach.

 

 

“As your older brother...” Ubbe glares at Cnut, one of Ivar's guards. I'm terrified more blood will be spilled. Fortunately, the man knows better, stepping aside and allowing Ubbe to shift closer to Ivar, “As your older brother, I will never… ever accept that.” I'm fighting the urge not to laugh. I thought a man raised by a cunning couple would have better arguments. But Ubbe proves my assumption right – he felt entitled to leadership based on his birth alone. Such a Christian concept that the eldest should have precedence over the clearly more qualified son.

 

 

Ivar sighs like he is disappointed with Ubbe’s resistance. I know he wanted Ubbe to surprise him. Ivar wanted to be wrong that his brother would never see him as an equal.

 

 

I feel like his sadness is not pretense, but it fades when he cocks his head and grunts. His smile is wicked, but I see past his facade of irony and mockery. He is hurt that his brother does not see his value. Cynicism is Ivar's shield.

 

 

“In any case it would be a dereliction of duty and after all does not somebody have to be responsible for the care of our people?” Ubbe turns to address the crowd of warriors that are there not to listen to him, but to mock. I’m not cruel to mock his defeat, but it's laughable to say the least, considering his desperate action sent the men under his command to death. Ivar moans in annoyance.

 

 

“It does not seem to me that you have taken good care of them so far.” Ivar’s nostrils are flaring, and I ask myself if something could stop him from killing another brother.

 

 

Ubbe’s face darkens with the realization that Ivar is right. He took a great risk going to King Aethelwulf. He turns to look at Ivar, “You cannot think…” He stops when Ivar does not pay attention to him as he choses to whisper to Cnut, “Ivar.” Ubbe hisses repeatedly until his patience is over and he shouts, “IVAR!” I shudder, looking at Ivar and almost pleading that he keeps control over his emotions. As much as Ubbe's defiance is offensive considering Ivar's role in our accomplishments, I don't know if I'll be able to bond my life to his if he harms another of his brothers. My mouth is instantly dry as I notice the way he looks at Ubbe.

 

 

Ivar takes a deep breath and I cannot avoid watching the way his jaw is clenching. Ubbe is horrified, mouth hanging open. I am sure the memories of Sigurd are haunting him, “You cannot continue to fight in England without Hvitserk and me.” Ubbe whispers, making Ivar laugh. I analyze Hvitserk’s expression, trying to see if he agrees with Ubbe's plans. He remains quiet as always and it intrigues me a man born from an illustrious lineage doesn’t have ambitions or resolutions of his own. A man growing surrounded by those heavy expectations is unlikely to follow blindly. I think there's more than the eyes can see.

 

 

Ivar chuckles and talk slow, “I think that you will find that more of our warriors and shield-maidens want to fight with me than go farm with you two.” I look around studying the faces and hearing the murmurs, “Right?” Ivar raises his voice as Ubbe shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his face betraying his obvious discomfort.

 

 

“Then Hvitserk and I will go back to Kattegat tomorrow with our forces.” I feel the hair on the back of my neck rising in alarm. I fear Ivar won't take his decision lightly. If I were sitting by Ivar's side I could whisper to him to let them go. He can't force them to stay.

 

 

_Who would want men whose loyalty are not reliable?_

 

I wonder if that's what Hvitserk really wants.

 

 

_Is he a man that wants to work on a farm almost the entire year, and go on raids only on Summer? Is Hvitserk starving for something more?_

 

Ivar purses his lips in mockery, “If that is your decision.” It seems to me Ubbe is broken that Ivar does not seem to care to have him around anymore. He bows his head slightly and turns on his heels with Hvitserk following him closely. Ubbe stops and turns to face Ivar one last time. He shakes his head.

 

 

“Our father… our father would have hated you for sundering and splitting his family.” He points his finger to Ivar.

 

 

I press my lips together not to state what my mind has been considering since I saw Ubbe hesitating during the last battle. Ubbe can be as cruel and manipulative as Ivar. He knows Ivar doubts everyone's love. It was a coward thing to say. Bringing back the memory of the father Ivar wanted to impress was evil.

 

 

“I don’t think so.” Ivar wrinkles his nose and smile as he finishes humiliating his brothers in front of everyone. I wonder if he truly believes his words. It makes my heart ache that I can't run to him whenever I want to, whenever I feel he needs me.

 

 

 

 ===================

 

 

 

We are sitting alone in the backyard of the Church Ivar turned into his hall.

 

 

“It's important to start preparing for the Winter. We don't know how long or harsh is the season here. Not to mention the possibility of a siege.” I can tell Ivar is not listening to me. Smiling dreamily as he licks his lips. I try to attract his attention by scooting my chair closer to his side. His eyes are shining with malice while he looks at our knees almost touching, and I have no idea what he is thinking instead of acknowledging my worries.

 

 

“Ivar!” I sound more exasperated than I planned, and he chuckles at my despair.

 

 

“My sweet Ragnhild.” He brings my hand to his lips, pressing kisses to my knuckles. I feel an odd throbbing between my legs, chills travel through my skin as I look in his eyes.

 

 

“What is distracting you? It's a serious matter and I feel like you're not listening to me.” I pout, making Ivar stop his kisses. He is still holding my hand, but his face is not playful anymore. His gaze is deep and thoughtful.

 

 

“ _You_! You're distracting me! I can't wait for you to be _mine_ , to sleep with you in my arms and for your smile to be the first thing I see when I open my eyes.” He utters, squeezing my hands almost painfully. It's like he is afraid I will vanish.

 

 

I giggle and Ivar glares at me, “Oh, Ivar…”

 

 

“Do you mock me, woman?” His husky voice makes blood flow to my cheeks, warmth spreads through my body as I open my mouth to reply, but my throat is dry. It's like I forgot how to form coherent words.

 

 

“Answer me, Ragnhild! Are you mocking my pain?” He tilts his head, smirking. A strangled whine leaves my mouth and Ivar laughs, his eyes flicking to my mouth.

 

 

“I… I would never mock you, Ivar. I'm suffering too.” I finally manage to reply, and he leans forward. Our foreheads touching while Ivar stares at me. The heat coming from his body makes my head spin.

 

 

“Are you suffering?” His hand goes to my thigh and I gasp in shock while he pinches my tender flesh through the fabric of my dress.

 

 

“Ivar!” I whisper against his mouth, afraid someone will catch us. My heart is pounding in my chest and I'm sure Ivar can feel it too due our proximity. Still I'm unable to look away from him. His gaze has me chained.

 

 

“I don't believe you're suffering as much as I am.” He is still squeezing my thigh, but now his other hand is making lazy circles on my neck. The contrast of his touches makes my eyelids heavy and I can no longer hold back a moan.

 

 

“You will have to do more than that if you want me to believe you're longing for me.” Ivar smirks, his tongue darting out and wetting his lips.

 

 

Before I can't think cautiously, my fingers tangle in his hair. The few inches keeping his mouth from mine disappear with our need. I find myself sucking his soft lower lip. Ivar grunts, opening his mouth. He bites my lips while his hand goes from my thigh to my waist, running up and dangerously close to my breasts.

 

 

Sweat is dripping down on my forehead, and it takes a monumental effort to push him away as I hear footsteps approaching. Ivar opens his mouth to protest, but a voice interrupts him.

 

 

“Ivar?” Ubbe's voice echoes and Ivar glares at him, dismissing me with a wave of his hand.

 

 

Confusion is written plainly on Ubbe's face as he looks from me to Ivar. I nod lightly when I pass by him. I'm sure his gaze follows me, and I can't help feeling amused by his perplexity. All I want is to yell at Ubbe’s face that Ivar is not alone as he seems to wish it’s the case.

 

 

 

====================

 

 

 

“I came to tell you the ships are prepared to leave and find you with Ragnhild. What are you trying to do, Ivar? Don't hurt that poor woman more than you already did…” Ubbe scolds Ivar, his palms curling into fists.

 

 

“It must be hard for you not to be able to know my mind, huh? I'm not as simple as your puppet… _Hvitserk_ ,” Ivar pronounces his brother's name as a curse. Ubbe keeps glaring at him and Ivar must control his urge to laugh. He wants to tell Ubbe that against his now clear belief only Aslaug could love him, Ragnhild is with him by her own volition.

 

 

“I suppose you wished you could take Sigurd’s betrothed as your wife, huh? Sadly, you’re _married_ , Ubbe. I doubt Sigvard’s daughter would be pleased to be a second wife…” Ivar winks, “especially if a former slave has precedence over her.”

 

 

 _How surprising it will be when I'm seating on Kattegat’s throne with Ragnhild by my side_. Ivar grins, tilting his head.

 

 

“Hvitserk is not following me blindly. He knows my ideas are for the good of our people…” Ivar burst into laughter, interrupting Ubbe.

 

 

“Hvitserk is blind for you're not really brilliant, Ubbe.” Ivar throws his head back, his hands going to his belly while he keeps his mockery.

 

 

“You truly believe you're the smartest man on Earth, don't you Ivar?” Ivar pouts, nodding slightly.

 

 

“Either I'm the wisest or you're all too stupid. The choice is yours.” Ivar's voice is calm as if he had thought about the topic for all his life.

 

 

“I came to give you a last chance not to destroy our family, but it seems I wasted my time.” Ubbe folds his arms over his chest.

 

 

“You wasted my time as well. Go for once, Ubbe. But for the first time in your life, stand by your decision and act like a man.” Ivar yells, making Ubbe's face twists in outrage.

 

 

Ubbe turns to leave, looking from over his shoulder to Ivar one last time, “I hope you don’t regret tearing our family apart, Ivar. I will never forgive you…”

 

 

“Then it’s a good thing that I don’t want, or I need your forgiveness.” Ivar curses under his breath and Ubbe walks away.

 

 


End file.
